


Orcs and Goblins and Barbarians, Oh My!

by fotoshop_cutout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dungeons and Dragons AU, F/M, M/M, Stiles avoiding life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fotoshop_cutout/pseuds/fotoshop_cutout
Summary: Stiles, the half-elf Thief, doesn't quite know what to make of his new bedroll companion and party member: Derek, the human Barbarian. He especially doesn't know what to make of his whole cuddling thing.





	Orcs and Goblins and Barbarians, Oh My!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya/gifts).



> So this may not exactly have been what you were expecting, but this idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go...

Between the warmth from the campfire and the hulking mass of muscle currently treating him as the little spoon, Stiles was broiling to death. If that wasn’t enough insult to injury, Allison and Scott definitely thought that everyone else was asleep and the two were canoodling just across the fire from him. Fortunately, the fire’s light blocked the majority of what the Ranger and Cleric were doing, and so Stiles just had to breathe through the sounds of tinkling giggles and the shushing from Scott. Realistically, he knew the couple had been doing this all along, and he was lucky enough that it wasn’t during his watches—perhaps they had known well enough to keep him in the dark. Lydia, who was actually on watch, was far enough away from the duo that she didn’t have to unwittingly overhear. The mage was smart enough to know it was happening, however.

Jackson rolled onto his back and snored louder, momentarily causing a disruption all around the camp: Allison and Scott froze, Stiles’ eyes popped back open just as he’d been successfully dozing off, and Derek shuffled closer to the Thief, arm snaking around his waist and pulling him in tight to the Barbarian’s naked chest. A puff of warm breath on the back of Stiles’ neck made his hair stand up on end and he cringed forward as a nuzzle followed it up.

See, it wasn’t as though Stiles was a prude: he liked revealing costumes on women, and he especially loved the dresses the mage, Lydia, wore that showed off her legs. The thing was that Derek was a burly, muscly Barbarian that swung a greatsword around and got covered with blood and guts during every single encounter they had. He was rude, spoke rarely and when he did he was gruff, seemed to think that he was the leader here even though Scott was most decisively their party leader, and he was hotter than the gods damned sun. The worst part, arguably this only stood for Stiles, was that since Allison and Scott were a couple and Lydia and Jackson had been together since the dawn of time, that left only one other bedroll for the Barbarian to share in with. That happened to be Stiles’ bedroll, thank you very much.

See, the party allowed one bedroll per two party members to cut down on the gear they had to haul around. Which made perfect sense to Stiles, but even still, he was less than enthusiastic about his current partner. At least he was human. See, Stiles had shared with a gnome before and he was not down with that. They also had interviewed a half-orc that had been much more disgusting than the Barbarian snuggling with the Thief now. So, while Stiles could appreciate the silver lining of his situation, he still was less than keen on the Barbarian he’d only met a week prior.

Stiles managed to somehow drift off into an uncomfortable nap between Jackson’s incredibly loud snore and the time when Scott shook him awake for his watch. He had volunteered for the last watch, preferring to either be up early or stay up late rather than taking the split shift watch, the way that Allison and Scott seemed able to do without having any repercussions. He did wonder how they did it. His eyes shot open and the hilt of his small blade hidden beneath his side of the pillow was in his hand, flashing up toward Scott’s throat before he had time to process what was happening. Once he had, and Scott’s understanding smile was seen hovering above him, he lowered the blade and tucked it away once more. A quiet grumble of thanks and he waved off the Cleric, allowing him to get back to bed.

It took some time to extricate himself, as the more he slipped from the Barbarian’s grasp, the more the sleeping man seemed to find ways to tighten his grip on the Thief. Finally, by peeling the man’s beefy hands from him, he was released, and Derek curled in on the empty space left in the bedroll, faceplanting into the part of the pillow Stiles had vacated. Filthy bed stealer. After that Stiles took his waterskin and his tools to give his hands something to do while he kept watch.

The morning was cool, and a fine mist rolled through the region, making the silhouettes of trees appear spookier than they actually were during the midday sun. It was still dark, and once Stiles left the cocoon of warmth and light from the fire, he found himself at a slight advantage: the half elf was able to see better in the dark than in the dim lighting of the camp. His watch was uneventful and between the early morning wake ups of Scott and Lydia, he wasn’t alone for very long. Not that they were talkative when they were going over their spells for the day, but at least they were up and moving around.

The remainder of the day left Stiles dreading the coming night where he would once again be curled up in a bedroll that was supposed to be his own, but instead he was giving over more than half of the space to the brutish Barbarian they had added to their party. So, when the day of traveling across the foothills in the direction on what they at least _thought_ was their objective was complete, Stiles decided that volunteering for two shifts of watches was a great idea. No one commented, they just thanked him for doing that and Derek went off to snore away in Stiles’ bedroll again.

As they traveled, Stiles did this more and more often. It was going to take them the better part of two weeks to arrive at their destination, having to travel much slower as they made their way through the winding mountain trails and did their best to avoid roving bands of orcs and goblins. It was on the third night of taking a double watch that things started to go wrong. He was in the last third of his second watch, which was the middle of the gods damned night, when Stiles must have nodded off. As any adventuring party member should know, if you’re on watch and you nod off, that’s practically _asking_ for your entire party to be attacked by whatever monsters happened to be wandering near.

Stiles awoke to a shrill scream coming from the camp as it was supposed to be right below his position on the knoll. It took him a moment to find it with his eyes, since the campfire he had expected to be there was out and the steam from water having been splashed over it filled the air, making it difficult to discern what was going on. Lydia had screamed, though, he knew it.

Scrambling to get to his feet, it took all of two seconds for a hand to snatch up the front of his tunic and haul him up, far beyond where his feet could touch the ground. Rancid breath met his nose and his eyes snapped to the creature in front of him. _Orc_. His mouth opened to let out a scream of his own, the sounds of chaos and battle finally processing from down in the camp. Good, at least some of them were still alive and fighting. His manly bellow (because it totally wasn’t a scream) must have drawn more attention than he thought, although he didn’t realize it right then.

The orc holding him up bellowed back, vile saliva smacking his cheeks and forehead in gobs. Stiles shrunk back against the trunk of the tree he was pinned against and his hand reached blindly for the hilt of his shortsword. He jabbed it directly into the creature’s solar plexus, but it didn’t even flinch. Stiles pressed as much as he could to skewer the thing, but the Orc just growled in his face. It struck the Thief then that he might have just secured his own death (if he hadn’t already purely by being captured), and he sucked in a ragged breath. Just as he was certain the Orc was about to retaliate warm liquid splattered across Stiles’ face, coppery scented and thick, steaming as soon as the air met it. Stiles’ eyes widened and where the Orc’s head had been was just air, affording him a view of a guts-spattered Barbarian hefting his greatsword around to strike at another one of the creatures coming up.

Stiles barely managed to land on his feet, stumbling away from the body, only to find that the hand gripping his tunic was still there. The limp body dragged him downward and he almost lost his footing between the dewy grass, blood pool spreading from the beheaded creature, and Stiles’ general lack of finesse when terrified out of his mind. A voice hollered out his name, causing him to whip his head around to see Derek fending off three of the ghastly creatures at once. The shock of the situation was slowly ebbing, his normal wits making him wrestle himself free of the dead body and move to assist his party member. His feet slipped only once as he weaved over toward the Barbarian. It took only one shrug of the man’s shoulder and a scoop down toward the ground with his wide blade for Stiles to understand what he wanted. The Thief moved swiftly, his light footsteps barely bending the blade as he sprinted up toward the hilt. The man heaved it upright, and even with the Thief’s added weight he swung it directly upward.

Stiles had to bend his knees, but then he was springboarded off the blade, launched directly at the one to the left of the trio. Brandishing his blade, Stiles landed with his blade sunk through the Orc’s skull, taking the entire being down to the ground behind it. There was a primal yell and another smatter of blood hit the ground next to where Stiles had landed. He withdrew, ripping his blade from the skull as he danced back toward the Barbarian, careful to not get in the way of his next swing. He retreated to step immediately behind the armorless man, his hand slipping in the blood that stood in stark contrast to the man’s skin on his ribs. Even as Stiles heard the outcome of the third unfortunate Orc to stand against Derek, Stiles spun to offer cover to their backs, crouching and brandishing his wetted sword. Nothing was there. A growl and huff from the man behind him made Stiles glance in that direction, blinking at the small mark of irritation that he read on the man’s face.

“What the hell, Stiles? You didn’t hear these lumbering oafs coming?” The words were laced with no small amount of disbelief and certainly no extra tact. The half elf sneered at the bloodied Barbarian and was about to answer when Jackson called up from below.

“Are you two done up there, or do you need help?” The Warrior was standing with his blade dripping some sort of intestines, his armor painted in droplets of Orc blood. Scott was kicking a dead thing from the edge of the fire with a look of disgust on his face as Allison plucked arrows from a corpse. Lydia—where was?—Stiles saw her walk up beside Scott and reach for the campfire poker, judging the coals based off a couple of pokes to it. A sigh and she flicked her curly red hair over her shoulder, eyes glancing over to the party leader.

“We’re going to need to gather more wood if we want a fire.” Her words, however, were drowned out by Derek moving up beside the Thief and shouldering him out of the way, grumbling over his shoulder at him.

“Next time either get more sleep or don’t volunteer for a double watch.” Then he raised his voice to talk to the rest of the party, “Shouldn’t we just pack up and move on? We’ve announced our presence enough and sticking around isn’t a good idea.”

Scott nodded and scratched the back of his head, then stood and hurried up the hill to meet Stiles on his way back down to the camp. He was filthy and saturated in Orc blood. All he wanted was to wash up and fall into bed. Scott clapped his hand down on his shoulder and gave him a concerned expression. “You okay, man?”

Stiles nodded and waved him off, dragged a sleeve of his tunic across his face, the cooling blood smearing into his skin and staining the cloth. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and his gaze darted to the complete asshole that just liked to ruin his life on the daily (Derek). “Yeah, no. I’m good.”

Scott knew enough to leave it well alone, just clapped him supportively on the shoulder and let Stiles kick things around as he shoved everything into his pack and wiped his shortsword’s blade off in some of the taller grass, letting that be as good as it was going to get for now. He’d have to well and truly clean it once they were far enough away to get a good rest in. His irritation sustained him until that time, and the party’s general grumpiness kept anyone from conversing too much.

Their incessant trudging in silence occasionally punctuated by a complaint or suggestion to find the next flat-looking place and stop to sleep was finally brought to a halt when Stiles flat out decided he wasn’t going to be able to go on without sleep. So instead of voicing it again, as he had been for the past few hours, he just trailed off to the side of the trail in a reasonably covered area, and flopped himself over onto the softest and nearest bed of grass that could accommodate him. Allison ventured over as the rest of the party bitched and complained and traipsed about the area, grumbling at one another. As she sunk down into a crouch beside him, he tipped his head to the side and regarded her with his exhausted eyes. All he wanted was some restful sleep.

“You’re not taking any watches tonight.” Her words weren’t as sharp as they could have been—even still, he knew better than to argue. He just ducked his head and moved his gaze off to watch as Jackson kicked around and loudly grouched.

“Because you don’t trust me.” Not a question. A filler of the blank left behind by her statement. He knew they must not anymore: his inattentiveness had nearly killed them all. It was a miracle that all of them had survived, even more so unharmed. Derek’s mossy green-brown eyes met his from across what was about to become a campsite for the party. The barbarian’s expression hardened, and Stiles dropped his gaze down to his own knees, not daring to even look over at the Ranger.

“You know that’s not the case. You need to sleep.” Having seen the interaction and not being incapable of sympathy, Allison glanced over at Derek and then back at Stiles, leaning close to keep their conversation private. “Are you avoiding sleeping because of Derek?”

Stiles’ gaze jerked up to meet hers and he instantly knew he’d been caught—if not because of her suggestion then because of his reaction to it. He cursed under his breath and huffed breath before he heard her soft gasp and a tinkle of a nervous giggle. Her cheeks lit up with a pink blush, and she bumped their shoulders together.

“I didn’t think you were like that.” Her fervent whisper made Stiles cringe and he shushed her, embarrassment making him suddenly fidgety. He squirmed and refused to glance up in case anyone else was hearing what she’d said. The way Jackson was complaining he was certain everyone was more focused on the Warrior at the moment, and Scott was the only non-participant that had hearing that rivaled Stiles’ own. That was the thing about the party: they were either all humans, elves, or a combination of the two. So far there had been no dwarves, gnomes, orcs, or other such races to join their adventuring party. Mercifully Jackson, Lydia, and Derek were all humans. Since Scott was a half-elf just the same as Stiles was, it would be no surprise if he confronted Stiles about this conversation later, but he could handle Scott knowing. Allison, the lovely elf, was the one he was speaking to and so he didn’t have to concern himself with anyone really overhearing them: they could speak at much lower and softer tones than the human ears could pick up. Not only beneficial for privacy, Stiles had found it important for sneaking around and letting his party members know where he was without raising any alarms.

Even though he knew he didn’t really have to worry, he still cast a furtive glance around at the other members of their party and he felt the flush creep up his neck and heat up his face. He opened his mouth to refute her statement, but the words wouldn’t pass his lips. He just flicked his gaze up to her sparkling brown eyes again and he blinked, momentarily stunned and speechless. She tossed her head back and let loose a full-bellied laugh, a grin spreading on her lips. As everyone glanced over, he received a playful punch to his shoulder from her. She then leaned close as everyone returned to what they were doing, only Derek’s gaze lingering. “You could have told me! ‘Sides, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, I’m pretty sure he would be more than happy to oblige.”

Stiles gulped and steadfastly did not raise his eyes to meet the Barbarian’s. He wouldn’t let the man know this humiliating conversation had anything to do with him. He swallowed and just murmured a thanks under his breath at the Ranger, waving her off with a real yawn cracking his jaw. One assurance that he would sleep soundly was apparently all she needed, and he slipped his pack around to his front, unclasping the bedroll with fumbling hands. He must be exhausted, what with his normally superiorly dexterous fingers slipping while undoing pack clasps. It took him almost no time to set up the bedroll, and he snacked on some dried fruits, nuts, and salted meat before he swallowed down half of the water from his skin and stood to help manage the campsite situation.

Altogether it took nearly half the afternoon, seeing as they were not going off on their own for anything and they were all so tired while trying to set up a fire and gather enough wood to keep it going through the night. Scott offered to start off the watches and it took almost no time for Stiles to finish cleaning his blade, sharpen it, and begin snoozing off with the sun still solidly in the sky. He was out hard enough that when he jolted awake at sundown, with just a strip of orange lighting the horizon, the fire was already started, and Scott was brewing some tea to bottle up over it while keeping watch. Derek was asleep next to him, but there was a gap left between them that Stiles felt mixed feelings about.

Was the man still angry with him for fucking up the watch? He knew he’d made a mistake, but even Jackson hadn’t really held it against him that long. He’d even helped Stiles with sharpening his blade earlier in the day. Lydia had traded him some meat from her pack for some of his dried fruits, and had barked at him some initially, but had let it go rather quickly. Scott, the sap, couldn’t have bothered with being upset with him for long at all, and Allison was more concerned about his lack of sleep than anything else that may have happened. Elves were like that though—they tended to not hold grudges since they lived so long.

Stiles released a breath as he stared at the amount of space between himself and the human Barbarian, and turned away from it, a crease in his brow as he attempted to fall back into sleep. Fitfully, he tossed and turned until a deep growl came from his bedroll partner. He stilled and huffed, punching up his lumpy jacket he was using as a pillow before attempting to curl himself around it. A heavy arm tossed over him and yanked him back against a muscled chest, a snarl in his ear along with a puff of warm breath tickling his skin and raising gooseflesh there. “Stop. Moving.”

The arm didn’t let up and for a long moment Stiles struggled to pull in a breath. He nodded jerkily and the coiled tension in the muscles holding him in place released just enough so he could relax. The Barbarian did not let go completely, and after a moment a soft snore reached the Thief’s ears. Derek had fallen back asleep.

Resigning himself to a long night of being stuck in the same position, Stiles ground his teeth together and slammed his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep. Unsurprisingly he eventually was lulled back to sleep, the radiant warmth of the body pressed against his own and the ridiculously little amount of sleep he had allowed himself to run on previously catching up with him. The next time he awoke he was alone in the bedroll and the sun was positioned halfway up to the zenith. Mid-morning. He’d slept a long time. Lydia must have caught his muddled attempts to sit himself up and she spoke up, “Sleeping ugly awakes.”

He flipped her off readily enough as Jackson chortled, and Scott moved toward him, offering him a hand to assist in his clambering to his feet. “You good?”

His best friend, the utterly romantic half-elf Cleric of the party, gave him a searching look that Stiles was not exactly prepared to hide from this soon after waking. He ducked his head and cleared his throat, shrugging with one shoulder. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good,” He lifted a hand to scrub through his hair at the back of his head and he huffed out a sigh, “Might have gotten too much sleep, actually.”

Scott took a moment, then he smiled and nodded, bumping their shoulders together in a classic Scott move, “I get that. Next time I’ll wake you up a bit sooner. We were just worried about you and wanted you to rest up before we continued on.”

He was the leader, and he was constantly concerned about the welfare of the party. It made sense, since he was in charge of making sure they all came back alive. Derek was not in the immediate vicinity, and neither was Allison by the looks of it. Scott noticed his glance around the campsite and filled in the gaps for him. “Allison’s off hunting for us, and Derek said he would fish for the rest of the afternoon.”

“We’re spending another night here?” Stiles ventured, uncertain that idea was the best one they’d had. Shouldn’t they put more distance between themselves and the last campsite, where they had been attacked? Scott saw his concern and he waved him off easily, “We didn’t run into any trouble last night and honestly I think we’ve moved enough toward the nearest village that the orcs and goblins won’t swing in this direction.”

Stiles hadn’t even realized they were anywhere near a village. The rest of the day was spent with him alternatively stuffing his face with the wonderful rabbit stew Lydia made from Allison’s catch of the day and taking a walk by the riverbank to find some berries. He’d successfully avoided any sight of the Barbarian fishing, which only served to make that evening more awkward as he avoided falling asleep first. Derek had retired after a supper of cooked fish, and Allison kept nudging him as he yawned, finally convincing him to go lay down as she took the first watch of the night.

Slipping into the bedroll, he bunched up his jacket behind his head and slipped a blade beneath it, ready to use at a moment’s notice. Immediately the Barbarian, who was very much awake, rolled to sling an arm over him. Stiles froze, tense and uncertain about this new dynamic—normally they were both very much asleep before any sort of cuddling commenced. The fact that both of them were awake as were Jackson and Lydia who were… busying themselves beneath their covers, made the Thief wonder what the man thought their relationship was. He was going to say something, quietly, about it when Derek huffed over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” The words were grouched out, as if the human expected Stiles to either pretend to be asleep to avoid answering or was about to give a bullshit answer and he wanted to prevent either outcome. Stiles swallowed and tipped his head slightly so he could look over his shoulder at the human curled up behind him.

“You do know that we’re not…” He couldn’t finish it, losing all of his boldness as the sentence trailed off. His eyebrows drew together, and he held the man’s gaze for a long, silent moment before he huffed and laid his head back down, resolutely deciding that he’d already had enough of this confrontation and that it was finished. Derek, on the other hand, did not seem to think so and spoke quietly (for a human) into his ear.

“…Did you want to…?” His expression was unreadable as Stiles tipped his head again to view it, the question causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat or two as he tried to figure out what the man could mean. Then Stiles saw it—Derek’s eyes slipped over toward the occupied couple for a brief moment before snapping back to him and Stiles felt himself color.

With a human Barbarian? How crazy would he have to be? Not only would the man be unlikely to live even half of his own lifespan (nevermind that could be fixed by magic), but the ridiculously muscled man was not his type. He liked pretty girls with red hair and enough magic spells in her arsenal to kick his ass ten times over—his own wide eyes searched out Lydia’s mostly hidden form before he jerked his gaze back to Derek’s and he swallowed again. “Uhh…”

His silence was deafening, or so he thought, but the man only appeared to have followed his gaze and then his brows furrowed, and a thunderous expression took over his features. Stiles moved to jerk back, suddenly very concerned for his overall health at being in the same general area as that sort of anger, only to be halted by arms locking him in place. The Barbarian surged forward, crashing their lips together in a move that not only twisted the Thief around to crush him against his muscled chest, but also served to produce a squeak from him as well. His lips parted as he tried to fight back, arms pushing against the Barbarian’s front, but a hungry mouth nearly devoured him: teeth nipping at his lips, lips pressing insistently against his own and a tongue sweeping past his defenses to slide slickly against his own.

Legs tangled with his and he very quickly found himself on his back, the Barbarian’s bulky form looming over his and keeping him trapped there. The heat and force behind the kiss was something he quickly succumbed to, his body reacting without his say so. He responded to it more than he had thought he would ever, his back arching and his arms no longer pushing against the man, but pulling at him instead, his squeak of surprise turning into a keening whine that he hadn’t known he could produce.

As his brain caught up with everything that had happened so fast, his eyes popped open wide and he cringed as far back as he could, his fingers hooking into the small amount of gear the man wore to bed, and using his position and a leg hooked around the larger man’s, flipped them. Tangled in the bedroll, breathing hard and unable to catch himself, he crashed down on Derek’s chest, surprising them both. Derek let out a breathy chuckle of surprise, not seeming to understand Stiles’ confliction, and he reached up to cup his hand around the back of the Thief’s head, attempting to draw him closer.

Stiles breathed hard for a moment and his eyes studied the Barbarian beneath him, knowing full well that he was more than a little attracted him. He thought about making the stupid move and running off, allowing him time to think about this while also putting himself and the party in danger— _again_ —but his brain won out and he knew he couldn’t do that. So, he took a moment to resist, gulping in lungfuls of air before he relinquished his hold of the situation and dipped his head down, lips recapturing Derek’s.

He wasn’t about to admit it, but he wasn’t exactly the most experienced of their party, and he was also the only one available—certainly Derek was only choosing him because he seemed like an easy target. He’d give this up as soon as they came to another town and he could chase some pretty girl. He just wouldn’t let this affect him then: he could do that, right? Stiles let himself sink into the feeling, quickly finding that the man was more than happy to shove past his clothing, loosening ties to his breeches before shoving his hand past the waistband, fingers first seeking out his cock. At the first brush of warm hands that were not his own, Stiles shuddered and nearly forgot that there were people easily within both earshot and sight of them. Fortunately, Derek swallowed down the moan that made it past his lips.

He scrambled for purchase, his hips bucking not just against the man’s palm that was pressing firmly against the underside of his dick, but also the sturdy resistance of the Barbarian’s body beneath his. Derek smirked against his lips and his lips moved to Stiles’ jawline, letting Stiles breathe, albeit raggedly, as he tipped his head forward to rest his forehead against the human’s clavicle. He swallowed as Derek’s hand moved, hand wrapped around him and beginning to pump slowly. The Barbarian was steadily rolling his own hips upward, his own stiff member pressing insistently against Stiles’ thigh. He swallowed back a groan and moved to lift his head as the Barbarian bit down on his neck, causing the Thief to gasp softly.

Everything went hazy for a moment and Stiles knew he wasn’t going to last. Choking back his moan, he gave no warning as he came with the man’s hand down the front of his breeches, his other hand curled around his hipbone. Derek arched up enough to lick into his slack mouth, his hand on Stiles’ hip grinding him down onto the Barbarian as he pressed back upward into him. As Stiles began to respond, his muscles feeling like warm liquid as he slowly started to return the deepened kiss, he felt the tension coiling in Derek’s muscles. With a soft grunt into his mouth, the man’s dick pulsed in his own breeches, marking his own release.

As Stiles broke off, panting against his neck, he wondered just how much the others were laughing at him—for having gotten off not only embarrassingly quickly, but also for whom his partner had been. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shove those thoughts out of his head. He knew better—Lydia would never, even if she was the one person he’d thought he’d wanted more than anything, and Scott was too sweet and full of heart to even think of laughing at him. Allison had been low-key encouraging this, hadn’t she? And Jackson… well, Jackson was a dick to everyone.

He took the time to catch his breath and adjusted as Derek pulled his hand from his breeches, apparently grabbing the cloth from one of their weapon-cleaning kits to wipe it off with. Stiles didn’t remark, just watched disinterestedly. He slid off to the side, his leg still hooked over the Barbarian’s thighs, his eyes finding the fire and staring into it as he felt the light sweat he’d worked up cooling in the night air. The human beside him brought the cloth into the bedroll, turning first to Stiles and showing no hesitation in cleaning him up.

The Thief did everything he could to keep staring into the fire, but Derek’s almost soft gaze eventually drew him in and he glanced at him. The Barbarian reached up with one hand and curled it around the side of his neck, making the spot that he’d bitten earlier throb. Stiles swallowed back his nerves and kept the unwavering eye contact going, not backing down against the human. “Good?”

The gruff question was barely audible, even to his ears, and Stiles nodded once. Derek’s smile was predatory as he yanked the Thief in for another deep kiss, this one slower and deeper than the ones previous. It made Stiles _feel_ things, dammit, and he knew he was in trouble. They kissed like that, deep and slow, for a long time before they fell asleep, Stiles still wrapped around the other man.

In the morning no one said anything about it. They obviously knew, just like how Stiles always knew when they were up to something, but Lydia must have curbed Jackson’s need to always make Stiles feel as though he were two inches tall. Either that or Derek’s warning looks shot at anyone who even looked twice at Stiles and the glaring mark on his neck were doing the trick. Neither would have surprised the Thief. It wasn’t until they had all packed up and headed out that Scott sidled up to him and clapped a hand down on his shoulder.

“I think we should swing by that village—we need to top up our supplies and then we can press on toward the Keep.” The Keep they may have to infiltrate and clear out, if they found the wrong kind of people there. Stiles tipped his head and considered their path, and then nodded his agreement.

“Solid. I’d like to see if there’s any apothecary there.” He was thinking _poison_. They hadn’t really come across any venomous beasts lately, and so he hadn’t had the chance to make his own, but perhaps if the village had something worthwhile, he wouldn’t have to dip into his reserves. Scott, however, snickered and shook his head.

“What?” He asked, perplexed by his friend’s reaction.

“Oh nothing, just how blasé you are about this whole thing.” For exactly one second everything was fine and then the meaning caught up with him and not only did he burn bright red, but he flailed around and smacked at Scott repeatedly. The Cleric ducked and tried to block the light blows, laughing as Stiles huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. Then he spoke low enough that he was pretty sure only he and Allison could hear Scott, “Come on, that bite mark is like a friggin’ beacon.”

Stiles reached up to slap a hand over it and he shot a glare at Allison as though she could stop all this from happening. She just smothered a smile, and thankfully the whole subject matter dropped. By the time they made it to the village the Thief was more than ready to go off on his own in search of what he was looking for. As expected, after he’d procured what he’d wanted, he found the rest of the party meeting up at the tavern, where Derek was already digging into what looked to be an entire platter of food. Lydia was beside him, drinking some sweet bubbly thing, and Scott had a mug of tea beside his own plate piled high with different meats and vegetables. Stiles slid into the seat next to the Barbarian and eyed the platter with interest, earning himself a half-hearted growl and the whole thing slid over near him as the man picked up a stein of ale and downed it.

The man had always been rather territorial about his meals previously, and yet the thought that this could possibly be a trap did not make Stiles look a gift horse in the mouth. He picked at the platter, happily munching on a kebab he found buried beneath a mound of small potatoes. As he sighed happily the platter was slid halfway back to the Barbarian, who began eating with earnest again. Stiles watched as Allison piled back over with a hot stew and a hunk of bread next. Jackson wasn’t here yet, apparently, but Scott began talking around mouthfuls of food anyway.

“I figure we stock up and head out—get as far out as possible toward the Keep tonight.” His announcement was met with a blank stare from Lydia.

“If you think I’m passing up a night to sleep in a real bed, you’re just as crazy as Stiles is.”

“Hey!” He cried out around a bite of kebab, eyes wide as they looked at the angelic Mage. She snorted and looked back at Scott. Allison shrugged her shoulder and glanced at Scott.

“That’s probably a good idea, actually. We’re not too far from that Keep, and besides, we may be able to get some information about this place if we ask the right people.” She spoke softly and then gave Stiles a pointed look. He sighed and looked longingly at the platter in front of the Barbarian.

“Why is it that I’m always the one who has to go asking around?” Whining wasn’t becoming, but it really was _always_ him. He watched as a barmaid moved toward them and Derek’s gaze lifted from the platter. Predictable, really. She was flagged down, and Derek ordered another ale in no time, the Barbarian’s eyes never leaving her until the alcohol had been delivered.

That was exactly what Stiles had been afraid of. “—the Thief.”

Lydia’s eyeroll accompanying whatever she’d just said pulled his attention in her direction. He scrunched up his face in confusion, “Huh?”

She sighed, and he waved her off, “Okay, okay, I’ll find the people with the information we’re looking for. Can I eat first?”

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing as his fingers stole food off of the platter halfway between himself and the Barbarian. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t sure if the man was actually still trying to share with him, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. So, stealth it was.

By the time Stiles was making his way up the stairs to find whatever room the party had gotten for him, he’d gotten all the information he could about the Keep. Apparently, it had once been in good repair and had been helpful to the village under the King’s reign. However, since it had been abandoned as an outpost due to the recent blight and subsequent famine in the area, the locals were certain that some unsavory folk had taken up its post and were using it as a base. He stopped by the room Scott was sharing with Allison, relaying all he’d gotten, and stumbled off to the room the Cleric pointed him toward.

He’d known he’d be sharing with Derek again, but he’d somehow put off thinking about how he was going to deal with it until his hand touched the cold metal latch of the door. He hesitated for only a moment before he pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, trying to seem more in control than he actually was. The Barbarian had his blade across his legs and was polishing the sword as Stiles entered, glancing up at him and raising his eyebrows. Stiles closed the door behind himself and shrugged off his cloak, letting it rumple into a pile on the floor. The man seemed to take that as an invitation and immediately stood, effortlessly moving the greatsword off to the side before he strode forward, pressing the Thief back against the wall hard. Stiles gasped and the tongue invaded his mouth almost instantaneously.

At first his hands grasped at the man’s shoulders, but then he was furrowing his brow and pushing him away, remembering exactly why he’d been not wanting to face him in the first place. Derek backed off after a moment and left only a scant amount of space between them, grumbling out his question, “What?”

“That girl down in the tavern…” Stiles began, eyes lingering on Derek’s lips rather than meeting his eyes.

“Who?” The Barbarian looked honestly confused and this time Stiles met his eyes, searching them for honesty before he continued.

“The—the barmaid.” He began again, trying not to just give in as the Barbarian’s body pressed against his again, crowding him right up against the door. One hand was already working on the ties to his breeches while the other was skating up his side underneath his tunic. The hands paused as Derek replied.

“…What about her?” Tension was hidden behind those words. Stiles gulped and stared directly into those mossy green-brown eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want her?” He thought he was being brave, but the look the man gave him left him squirming.

“Why would I—do _you_ want her?” Derek asked in response, making Stiles balk.

“I—no—why would you—?” But by then there was a huff and the tension eased between them, Derek closing the gap and groaning against his mouth, happily undoing the laces of Stiles’ breeches before taking a handful of tunic and using it to guide the Thief toward the single bed in the room.

As silly as it was, Stiles knew that whatever they were going to face at the Keep tomorrow was going to be something they could work through—if only because he knew he’d been getting more of whatever this was afterward. Not only was the man sinfully gorgeous with his solid muscular body, but he apparently _wanted_ Stiles. It seemed a little crazy, and perhaps would take some more getting used to, but at least Stiles felt secure in this for tonight.


End file.
